


i want to wipe out all the sad ideas that come to me when i am holding you

by sandpapersnowman



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Canon Related, Domestic, Innuendo, M/M, talking about needles warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 09:08:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12955977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandpapersnowman/pseuds/sandpapersnowman
Summary: Roman went to the White Tower to meet with Pryce last week, and finally, over dinner, he tells Peter why. It might involve weird upir venom stuff.





	i want to wipe out all the sad ideas that come to me when i am holding you

**Author's Note:**

> that scene in season 3 fuckt me Up. timeline-wise vague but after roman's anti upir treatments from Pryce
> 
> title from Marina & the Diamonds' [Obsessions](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/marinathediamonds/obsessions.html) despite how many Duran Duran songs directly call out these two

The wine in his hand is blood-red and already making him feel too light under his skin. Peter has no idea what it is; Roman had told him, but it had taken almost _ten full seconds_ full of surely-silent consonants and vowels for him to name it. Roman had then shrugged, said, "It's French", then poured them both glasses, nonchalant.

He's uncomfortable with a dinner so close to formal, and even more uncomfortable with Roman barely hiding how much he enjoys spending money on things that make Peter uncomfortable, but there's less forks than there were the last time Roman fucked with him like this, so... He'll take it.

The extremely rare, huge steaks that Roman has prepared for them sweetens it a bit, too.

Roman takes a long, slow drink from his wine before he sets it back down on the table. It's started staining his mouth, his already-gorgeous, cherry-pink lips darkened something closer to violet, and Peter wants to taste them sooner rather than later.

"How good are you with a needle?" Roman asks.

Peter takes his own slow sip of wine while he looks at Roman like he's insane and waits for him to give context, but he never does.

Peter sets his glass down as well, and gives Roman another couple seconds to stop being dramatic. Which, of course, he doesn't take.

"What the exact _fuck_ are you talking about?" Peter finally asks.

Roman's smiling as his long fingers rub the base of his wine glass.

"Pryce says I need to be milked."

The next time Roman says something with a thousand interpretations, Peter decides, he's just going to smack him.

"Okay, that's a more vague fuck than I was looking for," Peter sighs. "What the _exact_ fuck are you talking about?"

Roman shrugs.

"Since I've switched to the synthetic stuff," he says, and nods toward their shared fridge full of jars and beakers of red goo, "apparently my venom glands aren't being exercised." He takes another small sip of wine, probably for -- surprise -- a dramatic pause. "Pryce says I need to come in to have them drained or I can do it myself, here."

Peter nods. That makes sense.

(If you had told him two years ago, or even a year ago, that he would one day be discussing draining an upir's venom glands over a romantic wine and steak dinner _with_ said upir, he might have laughed himself into shock.)

"So where do needles and I come in?"

"I don't want to have to visit the tower every time I've got oral blue balls, but I can't get the angle right on my own."

Peter's stomach twists.

"Jesus, you want _me_ to do it?"

Roman shrugs again.

"He wants it _harvested_ , not wasted. Science research bullshit, I guess."

Peter sighs. Of course Dr. Pryce would make this into a major chore for Roman on a whim of his own.

"I don't understand," he admits. "You don't just _not_ bite anymore. You bite _me_."

Roman beams, from both the red settling into Peter's cheeks saying it aloud and the possessive twist in his gut being reminded of it.

"Yeah, but it's different," he explains. "The majority of the venom is only released if I bite to kill. Sinking my teeth into _your_ pretty neck," he says, and winks, "is for pleasure, not survival."

Peter scoffs, but it doesn't keep him from getting redder. They're both _very_ aware of how much Peter enjoys being bitten, against every instinct human or wolf he has, and they're also both _very_ aware that Roman _lives_ for teasing him about it.

"What would I have to do?"

"It's just a normal needle, and he said he'd send everything to store it and all that shit and have it picked up. You'd just take the syringe out of the case, pop the cherry, pull, and put it back."

The idea of popping _anything_ with a needle is a little sickening, but it doesn't sound so bad.

"Why don't you just go there to do it, though?" he asks. "I could fuck it up."

"Yeah, apparently I could go deaf if you put the needle, like, a millimeter too far."

"Then fuck you," Peter laughs, half disbelief and half _oh my God he'd rather go deaf than take half an hour out of his day to see Pryce_. "I'll go with you to do it if you want, but like hell I'm gonna risk that."

He tries to return to his steak as a gesture of _this conversation is over, you big fucking baby_ , but he can't stop thinking about Roman with a needle in his mouth, and he can't bring himself to continue eating yet.

"It's not that hard," Roman promises. "Pryce did one last week and it went fine."

"And suddenly I'm an experienced and highly knowledgeable doctor, am I?"

Roman laughs, that annoying, short giggle that Peter loves but would never admit to adoring.

"C'mon, Peter," he pouts, smile still plastered to his face. "I don't want anyone else stickin' it down my throat."

Peter rolls his eyes, but he's smiling at the dumb innuendo.

"You'll just have to deal with Pryce's needle once in a while," Peter fake-pouts back.

Roman whines, over the top and obviously fake but Peter still feels it too low in his stomach, too close to noises he usually hears when one of them is on their knees.

"Please," he begs, breathy like he's worked up and _still_ grinning. "You don't wanna milk me, Peter?"

He _laughs_ at that, because as pretty as the image of Roman on his knees is, forced upright and leaking over himself like he's trying to make him think about rather than the venom thing, Roman himself is ridiculous.

"Look," he says, "how about I go with you next time and see how Pryce does it?" he offers. "And _maybe_ I will consider jamming a needle in your mouth."

At that, Roman smiles and lets the subject move on to how good dinner is -- he makes Peter tell him how much he loves the steak, and he's more than pleased that he's enjoying the wine. They make it through most of the bottle, slowly but surely, until Peter's flushed as red as Roman's ever seen him, and can't stop smiling at all.

"Thank you for the delicious meal," Peter finally says, surveying their empty plates and empty glasses.

Roman smiles back.

He looks a little more relaxed than he'd been at the start of dinner, and Peter realizes toward the end of their meal that maybe wanting him to extract his venom isn't about laziness, or entitlement -- maybe Peter doing it makes it less uncomfortable. Hell, Roman's told him about the treatments he was undergoing; maybe he's just not ready to go back to the institute to get stuck up with needles on a regular basis again yet.

While they clear the table together, Roman holding their wine glasses and Peter with their plates and silverware stacked in his hands, he gets Roman's attention.

"Hey," he whispers.

Roman turns to him.

Peter kisses him gently. He can feel Roman's too-cold face soaking in his own body heat, even for the brief moment they're pressed together, and he can also feel Roman relax even more. If his hands were free, he'd have one drifting through Roman's hair and settling on his jaw, fond and loving, but without them he hopes Roman can feel his intent.

Roman's trying to hold down a smile so he can stay pressed against Peter's lips just right, and sometimes Peter's heart _aches_ for how innocent and precious Roman can be.

"I'll learn how to do it if you really want me to," Peter sighs, their foreheads pressed together to keep them close. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I know," Roman sighs back. "But I trust you."

Peter smiles.

"I trust you, too."

It's as close as either of them can get to a different set of words, but there's no doubt as to their meaning for either of them. It's just easier, for now, while they're settling into this rhythm.

Peter kisses him again.

**Author's Note:**

> I always forget to link it but you can also find me on tumblr!


End file.
